To serve with the bird By Mark Criden Aubert de Villaine bottles the sexiest grape juice in the world. His intensely silky Red Burgundy called “Romanée Conti” is such luscious pinot noir that a mere sniff unleashes a whole galaxy of aromas. A single sip not only caresses your tongue, but leaves a long, lingering memory. Maybe the greatest beverage of all time, Romanée Conti is comparable to a long lost love: you will never forget its taste or smell. In fact, by the time you drain a bottle, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without it, and whom you have to kill to get more. So here’s rule number one for picking wine for Thanksgiving: Don’t ever, ever serve Romanee Conti. Thanksgiving dinner, a heady brew of textures and flavors, is exactly the wrong place for a wine as complex, spectacular—and expensive—as this. I hate to pour cold water on those who were planning to pull the corks on a few bottles (current retail for the wonderful 1996: $2,500 per bottle), believing as you may that it’s the perfect drink to wash down the bird. And if turkey —and a Warren Buffet sized bankroll— were all we were considering, this might be a sensible plan. After all, even de Villaine himself said that the ideal food to serve with his ethereal vino is (this is true: you can look it up) a baked potato. In other words, he recommended something that wouldn’t compete with the complex sensory onslaught of the wine: a banal, relatively flavorless food. Like turkey, for instance. There’s little doubt that — except in rare instances — our Thanksgiving guest of honor belongs in the same taste-neutral category as the lowly Idaho spud. Today’s gobbler, especially those bred by mega-turkey factories and fattened by chemical diets until their breasts are the envy of every Anna Nicole Smith wannabe, has little in common with its rich, gamey ancestor that posed so nobly for bourbon labels. It’s no news that our T-day centerpiece has been reduced through the wonders of modern agriculture to a culinary blank slate, suitable only as a delivery vehicle for far more assertive and interesting flavors. And it’s here we find his niche, for though a dullard, our friend the turkey enjoys a considerable perk by serving as the poultry world’s tabula rasa. Like Mary Tyler Moore in her late great sitcom, the butterball has the opportunity to play the bland foil to an explosive cast of zany characters. Jalapeno cornbread stuffing, oyster stuffing, sausage stuffing, candied yams, cranberry sauce—they, not their chesty cohort, are the real hosts of the party in your mouth. And they’re the ones to listen to when deciding about wine. Before we listen to our side dishes, though, let’s admit that Spree’s hardly the only place to find Thanksgiving wine suggestions. Almost everyone else falls, though, into one of two pretty unpalatable extremes. At one end, we have the drill sergeants. Browse the cookbook shelves at Talking Leaves or thumb through any November Gourmet or Wine Spectator, and inevitably some Martha, Julia, Jacques, or other food hall monitor will hector you about creating flawless vinous matches to your impeccably roasted bird which will be served on your sublime Spode china to your beautiful, highly-polished guests. Their flogging is not limited to turkey day, of course. Whole forests have been sacrificed to the cause of our enlightenment about the perfect marriages of Bordeaux and lamb, Burgundy and beef, oysters and Chablis, coq and vin. They’ve promulgated enough exacting rules and regulations to make the Internal Revenue Service blush. What’s worse, these experts know that Thanksgiving provides their most rapt audience, when we’ve invited family and friends to share our bounty, when we get to show what we can do as hosts, and when a lifetime of insecurity and friction gathers round the table and hits us several times upside the head. Rather than helping us relax, the culinary enforcers instill panic over their quest for perfection. It’s a wonder Xanax isn’t the leading sponsor of Emeril Live in November. The other outpost is manned by anarchists. They smile dreamily and tell you there are no rules. Just drink what you like with what you like to eat, and you’ll be fine. Don’t worry, be happy. “Whatever” may make for a laid-back life, but it’s decidedly unhelpful party advice. Hitting the Sweet Spot All you really have to remember for success is that the real American bounty we honor at our Thanksgiving table is sugar. Think Cranberry sauce. Candied yams with marshmallows. Jell-O molds chunky with fruit. Sauces with raisins and prunes. Towers of Coke and Pepsi as far as the eye can see. And then there’s dessert! Even the savory stuff—cornbread, gravy, pickles—has more than a hint of sweetness. Hell, if we were all a little more congruent, we’d probably stuff the old butterball with fiddle faddle. Although some reds and whites marry decently with all this candy, there is one wine that shines, a white that not only has adequate sweetness to match our sides, but enough snap to stand up to sausage stuffing and Brussels sprouts as well. It’s the world’s greatest food wine: you know it as Riesling. Now, Americans claim to hate Riesling, remembering the cloying Blue Nun or liebfraumilch from our college days. But these cheap, sickly, characterless brews are nothing like true, great Riesling, which packs an enormous fruity aromatic punch and a sweet, but racy and intense flavor of apples and peaches. Typically carrying alcohol levels under 10%, Riesling’s the perfect wine for a large family Thanksgiving gathering. Riesling grows in many places, and reaches good levels of ripeness in New York State and Ontario. Most of our wine shops have decent selections of these wines. I’d avoid the Rieslings of California and Alsace, which are typically too alcoholic to be food friendly. If you want to reach the heights, though, head for Germany, home of the world’s greatest white wines, where steep, stony soils produce Rieslings of uncommon breed and character. Stick with wines labeled “kabinett” (lightly sweet) and “spatlese” (a little sweeter). Those labeled “auslese” will be too sweet for dinner, and the dry trocken or halbtrocken (half-dry) varieties won’t match up well with your feast. There are too many fabulous producers to name them all, but if you buy J.J. Prum, Von Schubert, Loosen, Christoffel, or Donhoff, you can’t go wrong. Most of these should return change from a $20. Germany’s had a run of good and great vintages, so almost anything from the past ten years is worth trying, but I’d avoid the 2000s, a rotten weather year that produced many shrill wines designed to rake the enamel right off your teeth. Other choices If you’re constitutionally incapable of buying Riesling, other bottles will work, but remember: nothing too complex and nothing too costly. Decent red-wine choices would include: Au uncomplicated lower-end Australian shiraz, like Rosemount or Banrock Station A slightly chilled grand cru Beaujolais from the yummy, easy to understand gamay grape, like Lapierre’s Morgon or Chignard’s Fleurie Italian Dolcetto, like Vietti’s or Pecchenino’s, with a soft, easy-going profile Lirac, from the Rhone Valley, which reaches heights of deliciousness with the Segries estate. Falesco’s spectacular Italian blend, Vitiano, probably the best under $10 wine in America. Spain’s delicious Borsao, the best under-$7 wine in America. Zinfandel is my favorite red at Thanksgiving, with its intense, big, ripe juicy-berry in-your-face flavors. Some producers to look for: Franus, Ridge, Ravenswood, and Rosenblum. Ridge’s popularly priced Vintner’s Blend is widely available and should bring you change from a ten. Or try Zinfandel’s Italian cousin, the delicious Amano Primitivo, from southern Italy. Along with Romanee Conti, I’d avoid all other pinot noir, whether from Burgundy or elsewhere, which, even in its more prosaic versions will be overwhelmed by the aggressive flavors at your table. And give a pass to what would be considered other serious & pricey bottles, like heavy, tannic cabernets, red Bordeaux, Northern Rhone beasts like Cote Rotie and Hermitage, or the Italian bruisers Barolo, Barbaresco, and Brunello. But if mama’s making manicotti, Chianti can be a delicious choice. For other white choices, you can try a chenin blanc from California or, more happily, a dry or semi-dry example from Vouvray in France. I’d skip the oaky California chardonnay, which goes well with few foods and will likely taste metallic with these sweet fixings. In the end, serve a few different wines to allow your guests to mix & match, like a Prum Riesling kabinett along with the Borsao, Vitiano or Ravenswood Zin. But polish off these bottles at Thanksgiving, because the next day, when you’ve recovered from your trytophan coma, and you’re serving turkey sandwiches, on good serving turkey sandwiches, on good bread with lettuce and mayo, it’ll be time to uncork the Romanée Conti. Call me. I’ll bring the corkscrew. A special note for my vegomanic friends: All references to “turkey” can just as easily be read as references to “tofurkey” which is, if anything, even blander than the normal American gobbler. A whiter shade of pale, as it were. Mark Criden, the former chair of the Buffalo Branch of the International Wine & Food Society, frequently reviews wine and otherwise haunts Internet wine boards. He is also a private wine cellar consultant. Back to the Table of Contents Back to Top